


Ides of Midnight

by aPaperCupCut



Category: Devilman (Anime & Manga)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Dreams, Time Loop, Time Travel, akira and miki live on their own, akira remembers instead of ryo, author fails at writing gore and stuff, author is overdramatic asf, expect slow updates and weird continuity, i actually already messed up my drafts because someone dies in ch 2 instead of ch 6 :/, really traumatic dreams, remember future
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-04-27
Updated: 2019-01-01
Packaged: 2019-04-28 12:42:20
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 11,198
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14449506
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/aPaperCupCut/pseuds/aPaperCupCut
Summary: If the dreams had abated, maybe Akira wouldn't be so worried. But they seemed to get worse with time - growing stronger, clearer, and more detailed with each new dream. If the dreams hadn't starred a horrifically twisted version of Akira's own life, he would've been ok.But instead, the dreams grew to resemble his day to day life more and more, and it didn't help that Akira was suddenly knowing things before they happened.





	1. Beginnings are always dreams

**Author's Note:**

> ok so i rarely write dream sequences, so this is kind of experimental. the formattings all weird intentionally. also i love miki and thems just the facts

Ryo turned to face him, eyes round and glowing in the darkness, his face slack. “This is where the legends of wolfmen, banshees, vampires, ghosts, and other terrible monsters seem to have come from. If demons are real, then those were all demons. Demons merged with humans, demons merged with animals, and I--”

 

Akira reached over, dread and worry flooding him, resting his hand against Ryo’s tense shoulder. Ryo flinched at his touch, but turned to him, pressing his own pale hand against Akira's, gratitude in his eyes.

“As far as I can tell, for whatever reason, Professor Fikira tried to merge with a demon. I… I knew he began acting strangely shortly after we arrived, and now… now, I am inclined to believe this is why.”

Akira tried to stop his sudden rush of strong concern, because he knew that Ryo wasn't bothered by his colleague’s death. Ryo just wasn't the type to mourn this long. There was something else, and if Ryo was right… 

“He tried to kill me, Akira. He would leave animal corpses around the cabin we stayed at, decapitated and gutted by hand, or perhaps by a dull knife. Right before he killed himself, he tried to slit my throat in my sleep; when I awoke, and fought him off, he fled to our jeep, and used the emergency gasoline caches to light himself aflame.” Ryo breathed shallowly, a fire lighting itself in his eyes. Akira could feel the vibrations of his voice through Ryo’s shoulder, the fast pulse of his heart through his pale fingertips. Akira tried to keep his expression calm, neutral. Best not to let Ryo know how rattled he was becoming.

“Ryo…”

“Listen to me, Akira. I cannot keep this to myself. I found evidence out there, evidence of their existence. I… I don't know what I'll do if they are real. If they are real, if they are truly responsible for Fikira’s madness, what is to say that… that…” Ryo looked so horribly confused, like he didn't know what would happen if such creatures roamed the Earth. Like he didn't know what he was saying, what he was trying to propose. Ryo always had a habit of feeling responsible for things that didn't affect him; although, in this case, Ryo was right to be scared.

Akira's eyes watered, and without thought he tugged his friend to him, embracing him awkwardly.

“It's ok. I'm here, Ryo. You can show it to me. You can tell me.” _Ryo,_ he thought, _you can lean on me._

A shuddering breath, and Ryo withdrew.

“Akira. I can't just let this lay, festering, if it is real and… and I'm **not**  crazy. I need you to do something for me, but I don't know if I can let you do it. It'll be your choice.”

“Ryo, I trust you. As long as it's with you, I'll do anything to help you. You're my friend. I can't just let you deal with this alone.”

After a long silence, each friend staring at the other, trying to hold the moment for a long as possible, Ryo nodded. And

 

                    Akira

thought

he

saw

 

The music was loud and pounding, the lights bright and colorful. He'd lost Ryo in the crowd of dancing bodies, and wandered frantically, trying to get his bearing. Already, several people had shoved pills in his hands, and Ryo himself had shared a few drinks with him before they separated.

Maybe this was easy for his unorthodox friend (a high Ryo was funny, but a pain to deal with), but it was stressful for him. The grinding bodies stunk, and he had to sidestep several… private parties a few times. He couldn't stand this; he wanted to leave.

But Ryo needed him to do this. To merge with a demon would protect so many - if he succeeded. Which was kinda doubtful; the person Ryo had described was like no one Akira had ever met. The only thing he came even close to matching was the ‘young,’ part, and he wouldn't be considered young in another seven or so years. No time at all, in Akira's mind.

 

A scream broke his thoughts, and loud, familiar laughter. Fear

struck him, and

he rushed to the source.

 

Ryo stood, surrounded on all sides by stunned faces. Blood ran down his face; whether it was his own or someone else’s was unclear. A woman groaned in pain, and red gleamed across the ragged edge of a beer bottle that Ryo held tightly. He'd cut himself as well, and the blood almost seemed black under the lights.

The woman gripped her torn dress, blood soaking her front, anger and pain contorting her sharp features. She moaned in pain, fury making the sound die in a hiss.

“Ryo! What the fuck are you doing!”

Ryo laughed louder, shoulders shaking. The crowd parted as he approached Akira, mutters of ‘he's mad!’ and ‘fucking hell, another buzzed druggie,’ catching his ears.

“Akira. I was just looking for you.” Ryo smiled, almost beautifully. “There's only one more thing the Sabbath needs, in order to work.”

A gasp - He drove the shattered bottle deep into a bystander’s stomach. Blood, thick and so red it burned, splattered across his white jacket.

“It needs blood, and lots of it.” He tore the bottle from the man’s body, and the victim spat blood onto Ryo’s blonde hair, vivid red against white under the harsh rave lights.

For a moment, all was still; the crowd seemingly in shock at the violent lunatic’s words, and Akira frozen in a horrid mixture of horror and reluctant acceptance. Maybe Ryo saw, maybe he didn't, but the moment was there and then gone again in seconds.

Akira lunged, pulling Ryo away from the enraged crowd, but was caught by a huge man and a strong woman; held between the two, his grip on his friend loosened, and Ryo slipped away from him like a snake. He was hit head on by a fist aimed at Ryo, and in the corner of his eye he saw Ryo getting slugged in the stomach.

Kicks rained down on him; he curled up, biting his lip to keep his shrieks of pain in, ignoring the blood that slithered down his temples. He heard Ryo spit out a curse or two, and then a grunt as if he'd been slammed against a wall.

And then--

A sudden scream. A howl of absoluteness, unknown emotion tearing through the air like a boulder. The men surrounding him stumbled back, and Akira, dizzy with pain, looked up.

 

Across from him,

hands splayed across the wall, face stretched in terror,

Ryo stood, mouth open in fright. And just feet away, a woman -

the woman Ryo had stabbed just minutes

before.

 

Blood poured like a waterfall from her stretched mouth, clothing fallen, forgotten beneath her heels. Her breast rose, rapidly, and Akira watched in stunned horror as her skin bubbled and seethed, as if something was trying to break free.

With a final screech, her body burst; red coated his vision, and all he could do was watch.

( _All he could do was watch._ )

Her face split in two, mucus stretching from her jaws, eyes popping out and rolling to Akira's feet. Her body twisted, her spine sprung from her back, bones lengthening, sharpening. Her breasts swelled unnaturally, then exploded, yellow, viscous, steaming liquid staining her darkened, flushed skin.

The monster that had killed her stood, frozen in some inhuman feeling.

Then, it howled.

People screaming, all around him. He climbed to his feet, eyes frantic, heart going a mile a minute.

Ryo had said it would be brutal. He had said it would be horrific. But Akira didn't know it would be like this, with people dieing all around him, some transforming in the same traumatic way as the woman, some caught in the monsters’ jaws, bitten in half and spat across the chamber.

“Ryo! Where are you! Please, Ryo! I can't--” he was screaming, futilely, hands and feet scrambling, his eyes darting, back and forth, everywhere, to find his friend. “Ryo!”

He saw him.

He saw him, trapped, a monster leering over him, fangs dripping with human blood and thick saliva. He saw him, his collected visage crushed underneath horror, underneath fear, underneath--

( _realization?_ )

And then he saw a creature’s shadow, draped over him, and he tried to run, his little human heart pitter-pattering, pitter-pattering, mind in tatters and fear so strong he could smell his own pulsating blood--

There was a sound; then a roar; and then something sunk its teeth into him, deep, so deep, that he could feel spit dribble into the wound.

He felt something squeeze into his head, painful, almost too much, before his voice howled ( _ryoryoryowhereareyoupleaseicantbealone_ ) and he felt himself envelope it, completely, barely hearing its own sound, caught up in a rush of

**himself**

and

**it**.

She was beautiful. Beautiful Sirene, pearly white feathers draping elegantly over her skull, the blood dribbling over them like water off a duck’s back. Ryo beside him, short hair untouched by the breeze, watched the body rock ever so slightly in the wind.

It was hard to think.

She'd been dead for a week, now, and every night, somehow, he and Ryo met together, sitting by the base of the demon, sharing a bag of chips and maybe a soda. They rarely talked. There was so little to say, and nowadays it felt like all they did was run around and yell at each other. It was nice, to just. Sit and breath in each other’s company.

“Why did you say that?” But apparently not tonight. Ryo turned searching eyes to him, features seeming to swim in Akira’s vision. But his eyes, his ice blue eyes, were steady.

Akira clung to that.

He swept that thought away, and played stupid. “What're you talking about, Ryo?”

Ryo smiled, and lightly pushed his shoulder against Akira's. Ryo had always been able to pick up on Akira's games quickly. But Ryo didn't snipe back, like he usually did, instead looking away, up at Sirene’s triumphant visage.

“When you said that you thought it was love,” Ryo murmured. “When you looked at her, at them, you said it looked like love.”

Akira waited. Watched his friend consciously keeping his hands flat on his lap, his glittering blue eyes locked on the terrible creature looming over them.

“Why are you asking?”

Ryo started, and before he could hesitate, Akira had grabbed his hand in a loose, but firm, grip.

The quiet settled on them, not uncomfortably.

“I…”

Ryo inhaled; held the air between his teeth, for the briefest of moments, and exhaled.

“I barely see how humans are capable of _love,_ let alone demons - demons, motivated only by the basest of desires, feeling love?” He laughed. It was ugly, but all Akira could feel was worry, instead of repulsion - and he had no doubt that, if Ryo had told anybody else, they'd be disgusted.

( _He wasn't sure why they would be. He wondered if, in the past, he would've, but that was only a thought._ )

“It sounds so ridiculous. Why would you claim such a thing?”

Akira pressed his shoulder against Ryo’s, just like Ryo had moments before. But instead of humour, it was reassurance.

“Maybe I'm just a romantic,” Akira said, smiling. Ryo scoffed. “You're worrying too much, Ryo. What does it matter, if they feel love or not? And I know, I know, you--”

Akira paused. Ryo was looking away, now, and although they both knew - both knew that Ryo’s concept of love wasn't Akira's, Ryo always… wanted to pretend, wanted to pretend that everyone thought what he thought, knew what he knew. Bringing it up…

Even though Ryo had started the conversation, it was on Akira to end it. To make sure Ryo wasn't hurt.

“Ryo.” Without thinking, he grasped his friend's face, gently turning it to face him. Tears were pouring from those blue eyes, and Akira felt his own water in sympathy. It was ridiculous, that they cried together so often. “Ryo, I saw _love._  It's ok if you didn't. It's always gonna be ok, if you sometimes don't see what I see. Because I almost never see what you see, and that's fine, too!”

Ryo began to smile, ever so softly.

“I saw love, because what they did to each other, for each other… I thought it was love. But it also could've been something else - and y’know what, Ryo?”

“What?” Ryo was smiling now, tears abating.

( _I love you!_ )

“What does it matter, if they don't love? After all, we're human! And whatever you may think, I know that I'm capable of love - **and so**

**are**

**you**!”

 

Ryo’s hand in his. Blood pumping, so hot, so warm, under his skin.

The creature laughed, mouth spread wide in a grin as it watched him cry. “Kakakaka! What a baby, what a crybaby! Does wittle Debiru-baby want his mommy? Kakakaka!”

He squeezed his eyes shut. The thing’s laughed raked over him, and felt himself shiver. He could still hear his mother's cries, just before it smashed her face into a bloody pulp. The child's cry echoed in his ears, the moans of despairing victims pounding into him.

A hand on his shoulder.

( _a hand in his_ )

“Akira.”

He opened his eyes, stared into Ryo’s cold gaze. His friend’s ice blue eyes flicked to the demon, but Akira wouldn't look at it. Couldn't look at it.

“You have to kill it, Akira.”

There was blood on his hands.

“ **You have to kill it, Akira.** ”

 

Miki cried at him, eyes swollen with tears and hands hitting his chest uselessly. Taro’s body was miles away, grave under the earth, and yet it felt like he'd brought the child's body right to her. Like he'd thrown the twisted, bloated corpse at her. Like he wasn't hurting, too. Wamu and the others stood in stunned disbelief, as Ryo continued rattling on his report.

His report. What a joke.

Carefully, he wrapped Miki in his arms, his eyes dry, as his best friend, the man who had stood by him, who he had stood by, continued his death sentence for one Akira Fudo.

 

_“ **You have to kill it, Akira.** ”_

 

How could he? How could he? Miki’s corpse was lain in his arms. And all he could see was Ryo’s tear filled eyes, as if he hadn't been able to guess what would happen.

Ryo had always been the smart one; the one with the know-how, the one with the plans. Even in the calm times, late at night, when he and Akira had shared a joint, passing it between them as they watched the stars, talking endlessly about nothing at all. Ryo would mutter on and on about the future, about how, when Akira graduated, they'd get a house. How, once the demons were finally gone, they'd open a books shop. And Akira would ask, why a bookshop? And Ryo would say--

Ryo would say…

All Ryo was saying now…

All Ryo was doing now was crying.

_you have to kill it, akira._

 

* * *

 

Akira woke with a gasp, hands grasping futilely at nothing, breath coming in huge, heaving gasps. The nightmare ebbed at the edges of his vision, darkness making his mind tumble, over and over, thoughts spilling like rancid fruit across the floor.

“Akira! Akira, wake up! It's just a dream, just a dream!” The shout was right next to his ear, and he jumped, heart thundering. “Oh, thank goodness, you're awake. It was just a dream, Akira.”

Miki pouted, and he withheld a scoff at her indignation, mind still turbulent. He sat up, and brushed sweat dampened hair away from his forehead.

“Miki… how early is it? I didn't wake you, did I?” He gulped, suddenly nervous. Miki had a heck of a right hook when she was annoyed. And waking her up, however involuntarily, was sure to piss her off.

“Oh, it's not that early! I was gonna wake up in a few hours anyway…” She trailed off. He tried to not let his exhale of relief appear too obvious. She ignored him, instead continuing her train of thought. “But you did wake me up! What, did you have a nightmare or something?”

He shook his head, trying to chase the last vestiges of the dream away. “It felt like a nightmare… But maybe it was more like a memory...”

Miki sighed, patting his forearm affectionately.

“Well, it was just a dream. No big deal, even if it was ‘a memory’!” She deepened her voice falsely, trying to mimic his tenor. She grinned suddenly, her eyes glimmering. “But ya know what… nobody’s awake… and we're all alone…”

Akira laughed, and the dream was chased away as if he'd never had it. At least it was, for the moment. “You're so predictable, Miki!”

Playfully, she smacked him. “Oh, c'mon! I'm dressed perfectly for it right now!”

He surveyed her nightdress, unimpressed. “You have as little fashion sense as Ryo,” he smirked. “Although I do think you wear it better than him…”

She pushed him off the bed, ‘hmphing!’ while he cackled.

“You really just don’t know how to treat a lady, do you!” She stood up, heading back to the hallway. “I'm going to go take a bath!”

He sat up again, sending a soft smile her way. She smiled back.

“Akira… it was just a dream. If something is really bothering you, I'm here. Ok?” Her eyes softened.

He nodded, and she closed the door silently, leaving him alone in his still room.

His dream…

It was strange… it was like reliving the night of the Sabbath, but so many things were different. Ryo hadn't had such long hair, hadn't worn that marshmallow-like coat. And Akira remembered the resulting massacre - whereas in the dream, he had blacked out, awakening only to a vast expanse of white and a horrible feeling of losing time.

And Akira hadn't died; in fact, that was the first time he'd ever died in a nightmare… and it was so, incredibly… disturbing.

_Satan…_

Did such a being really exist? He'd never even thought about the stories of named demons; it was bad enough that there were demons with names at all. Amon and Sirene, though, really had no mention anywhere, although Ryo may dig something up if Akira asked. But Satan?

Akira was well aware of Satan’s acts as told in religious text - it came from living with Miki’s Catholic family for a good decade before the two of them moved into their own space - but the dream made Satan seem… sad, perhaps misguided.

Of course, all he knew of Satan, all he saw of Satan, was that the being had made a terrible mistake, and someone he loved died. He remembered hearing Satan's cries of pain and sorrow, heard him as he lay dying himself, somehow years away, somehow right in front of the stranger.

( _And he couldn't think of exactly who Satan had been in the dream - no, he couldn't. It may have helped, that his face kept changing, over and over…_

_But his eyes were always the same._ )

It was all so very confusing… and as the horror of the dream melted away, all Akira could feel was dread.


	2. Dread

If Akira let himself be bothered by that dream, he doubted he would last long before telling Ryo or Miki about it; Ryo wouldn't understand and Miki would have to be told about the whole… demon… thing… Which Akira did not want to do. If there was one thing he was happy with about the demons, it was that he could kill them in perfect anonymity, and could forget any human guilt for doing so.

But he kept dreaming, kept seeing such horrible things--

_“I know you want to cry, Akira. I don't blame you. I… I almost feel like crying myself.” Ryo’s eyelashes fluttered down, his breath stuttering falsely. Falsely, because Akira knew he did not need to breathe. “But I can't. I am drained of sorrow, drained of it, for I have cried for eons, for my beloved brethren. God's angels shall never be my brothers again; only the demons have fully embraced me. But you have also embraced me, Akira, and so I wish to cry for you as well.” And all Akira could do was sob, hoarsely, Miki’s skull, bloody and fleshless, pressed to his chest. Everything was falling apart, everything was falling apart, everything was falling apart, everything was--_

But he had dreams every night now. Each was different, each hitting him bone deep with fear.

_And Ryo’s face crumpled. “Akira, please.” he took akira’s hand and pressed it, shaking, to his cheek. “akira. I can't. I can't.”_

_Miki cried. Miki cried, and turned her face away. Miko reached across from him, touched akira. akira pressed his knuckles against Satan's throat, and all he could was shake._

Each time was inexplicably different.

_「If this recording is proven true by police and military, then danger is imminent. Viewers, exercise caution; demons can take the guise of anyone -- your lover, your child, your friend. We will update you as news is received.」_

And the humans and the demons both died.

_Taro’s body hung limply from the door jamb; headless and dripping. Akira ignored it. He couldn't look at it. He couldn't look at it. If he did - if he did -_

_miki_

_wasnt_

_\--_

It made him a bit anxious during the day. He tried to spend more time with Ryo and Miki; tried to juggle the two, tried to get them to get along, tried to forget his daily nightmare. But he didn't.

What was worse than that, though, was his near constant sense of deja vu. Over and over, a demon’s blood on his hands and he couldn't help but need to clean it off as soon as possible. Before the advent of the dreams, he hadn't cared; perhaps he had even enjoyed the feeling of blood under his fingernails.

Miki had taken to staring at him, concern and worry marring her soft features. Ryo was staying quiet, but Akira caught his friend making suspicious and worried glances at him occasionally. Akira just wasn't sure what to say.

Hell, what would he say? ‘I'm getting extremely vivid and realistic nightmares wherein everything has gone as it has in my life except terribly wrong. Terrible demon attacks and suddenly demons pop up left and right, and Ryo, yeah, you, my best friend, betray me and get everyone killed. Yeah, also, Miki, I'm a human-demon hybrid called Devilman and you die, too.’

Yeah. That… that wasn’t plausible at all, even if it was true.

 

* * *

 

If there was one thing Akira was glad about when it came to his age, it was that he didn't have school to go to and his parents had enough of an inheritance left for him to live his entire life comfortably. So although he got a free ride from Ryo way too often, he could lounge around all day without a care.

Ryo was busy doing _something_  - Akira didn't know what, but although he did want to hang around his friend, he sensed that Ryo needed his space after how… clingy Akira had been lately. Miki was busy at university, the only one of the three to even bother trying to get in. Akira knew he could never manage in school, and Ryo had already graduated several times over years before. Damn, Akira was barely a highschool graduate, and his best friend already had several degrees.

He tried to sit around and just enjoy the quiet, but the unease - the complete feeling of wrongness - hell, how was this even deja vu? He didn't get days off like this often, all alone for the day and with no plans at all. Normally his demon blood made him restless, so even when Ryo hadn't scouted out the next demon spawning ground, he'd gone out by himself.

But today he just… wasn't.

Instead, he just… was laying--

It was like a static shock up his spine, spreading delicate fingers across his back and down his arms.

He jolted up, back as straight as a steel bar, eyes so wide he felt the chilly air nip at the inside of his eyelids. He turned slowly, mind cascading jumbled thoughts that rang out with sordid silence, white noise blocking his conscious movement.

There was a clatter. Then a thud.

Akira rose, slowly, and walked boldly to the door - the front door.

Another sound - a pounding of flesh, the smack of porcelain against a hand. Akira thought, distantly, that this must've been what he was waiting for.

The door opened, and Akira took a step back, reflexively shielding himself.

“Does Akira Fudou live here?”

Blinking, confused, Akira looked at the stranger. Wearing a loose track jacket and shorts, the guy stood just a few inches under Akira's own demonically enhanced height. His brown hair was in neat dreadlocks, piled on top of his head. He felt… disturbingly familiar.

But what really caught Akira's attention was his accented eyes; black markings, almost like mascara or eyeliner, lined his eyelids. They were nowhere near as prominent as his own, but with his scent…

Akira had attained a fairly sensitive sense of smell when he had become Devilman; humans, he couldn't smell too well, but demons had the stench of sulfur and smoke, rot and refuse. And this man… he didn't stink of it, but the smell seemed to catch on his clothes in the wind, wisping about like it belonged. Paired with his strange eyes…

“Heeello? I said, does Akira Fudou live here?” The guy sneered, like the name tasted foul. “I need to speak with him.”

Akira stared, unmoving, and said, “Yeah, and he's standing right in front of you. What do you want?”

“What? Not even gonna invite me in, ask me my name, maybe offer me a glass of punch?” At Akira's unflinching glare, he sighed. “Well, my name's Koda Moyuru.”

When he paused for slightly too long, Akira straightened his back and leaned back to put some space between them. Koda, however, followed, pressing forcefully into the house.

“So, this is the great and powerful _Devilman,_  huh?” Koda smirked, but his distaste was obvious.

“What do you want, _demon?”_ Akira snarled.

Koda blinked, almost like he was surprised. “Oh? You can't tell?”

Akira pushed the demon back, already thinking, mind whirring. Koda, however, just smiled. Just smiled, but it was more like he was spitting at Akira than a pleasant smile. Akira could feel the demon’s body begin to roil beneath his grasp.

“Not here, you bastard!” Akira shouted, trying to get the idiot away from the house. “Not--”

“Dumbass, do I look like I could give less of a shit?” His voice deepened, growling.

His shirt stretched, then shredded, torn apart by broadening shoulders. His body seemed to shorten and widen, a toothy maw spewing acidic drool across Akira's arms. With a pained yelp, Akira jumped back, barely avoiding Koda as the demon dropped into a four legged position. His face, awash with blood, had been dragged up to the top of his now enormous skull, horns piercing through his skin.

The demon screamed out animalistically.

Horrified, Akira felt his hair pull back, his teeth lengthening in his skull, his jaw unhinging to accommodate the sudden growth. Before his body could finish its own transformation, Koda slammed one of his horns into Akira, throwing him far from the house. Technically through the house, but same thing.

Akira dragged himself up, his body finished transforming but bleeding heavily from his side. He forced himself to stand still as Koda charged, roaring. He caught the monster, shoving it back roughly, before darting out of the way. It howled in anger and pain, wrestling the tree it had speared itself on, trying to dislodge it.

Acting quickly, Akira dropped from his roost, landing hard on Koda’s back. He didn't hesitate; he drove his hand into the thick hide with demonic strength. Blood burst up in a fountain, dying his hair black-red. Koda howled, but Akira couldn't stop.

( _He was watching an old film, something nostalgic; the feel of meat separating in his hands, of blood soaking his hair, his legs_ )

He reached into the blood pumping crevice, reached in and grasped the sides, rending, tearing, the creature in half. Separating the flesh.

Blood flooded his senses; blinded him, made him deaf, coated his skin, made his skin numb and pinpricked with pain.

Deeper - _deeper_ \- howls of pain transformed into garbled gasps, drowning, drowning.

It stopped.

Akira knelt, alone, the silence of the forest - for they had tumbled into it during the altercation - his only company. His body loosened.

He was naked and alone. He was completely coated with blood, thick and clumpy blood. On either side of him were the pieces of the demon ( _the devilman_ ) called Koda.

He couldn't think straight.

The deja vu hung heavy in the air, twisted into something dark and so very _wrong,_  and all Akira could think was that Koda hadn't died this soon before.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i dont like koda
> 
> also my sister unintentionally bribed me to post this with an ice cream sandwich. im v tired rn
> 
> ive been sitting on this since march
> 
> welp, now ive only got two other debiruman fics i havent posted........ one is kinda too late to post - someone awesome has posted the beginning of the concept i have, and i dunno if its considered plagiarism to post. ive had it since feb, but ya never know. as for the other, im not gonna post it til ive got the second chapter


	3. delicate, leading up to it

_“oh, that's not quite right.”_

_delicate hands, cool against his scalp. a barely there touch, skimming over his hair. he wanted them to press down, to furrow those ice cold digits into his soft, rotten skull._

_“we'll have to change this…” the voice trailed off. the tenor of it made him shiver,  and the hands flowed down his cheek, skin against skin. “it'll only take a moment, don't worry.”_

_And they dug deep, down into his brain matter, down into his spine, cerebral fluid soaking the tips of those long, sinuous hands._

 

* * *

 

Ryo didn't have to know. It was the first thing he decided, when he finally stepped out of the pile of remains. It was what echoed through his mind, as he washed the blood from his hair, the cold water making goosebumps form all over his arms.

He tried to shake the thoughts from his head - _who'skoda?hediedtooearly.ryodoesn’thavetoknowhecan’tknow_ \- but they pound through his brain, all through lunch, all through dinner. Akira forced his mind on other things, but mostly failed.

_Miki’s out late,_ he thought. Then, immediately, _Ryo can't know._

It frustrated him, how hyper focused on the stranger’s death he was. He felt restless, like something shifting around in its own skin, unable to escape but unable to wait comfortably. He held his phone loosely, thought about texting someone, but who could he talk to without sounding utterly bizarre? _Ryo can't know._

He kept closing his eyes, opening them, seeing how late it was and then closing his eyes again. The sun had fallen under the horizon, and the moon was obscured by heavy clouds. The hours passed in a blur of fog, thoughts switching wildly, eyes twitching unceasingly.

A loud bang, and his eyes burst open, and suddenly he was wide awake.

Miki, at the door. Wearing her usual outfit these days; a pack at her hip, gloves and a kerchief in case of air attacks. She hadn't brought Tako, this time, but then again, she rarely did. He knew Tako wanted to see him; Akira desperately wanted to see the little boy again, too, but it was too dangerous.

“I don't have much to say,” Miki said. She sat down heavily beside him, lanky arms brushing against his. “Ryo’s still… I can't… Akira, please, say something. You know I can't start these… meetings.”

He wondered if she had noticed that she _always_ started the meetings. She never gave him a chance to start. But he wouldn't withhold his response.

“I've been busy. We found another group of devilmen last week; medical supplies are getting harder to find,” Akira said quietly. “How're the humans in your group?”

“Mostly angry. There’s an outpost nearby; the men there have been kind. They give whatever they can spare to us. But a few days ago, some boys snuck out…

Akira shook his head, and tried to keep his breathing regular. She didn't need him crying on her. They both didn't need to start that again. Especially when one of them was missing.

Miki grasped his hand, letting herself stop for a brief moment. Akira squeezed back, trying to let her know, trying to reassure her, that he felt the same. She let go after a few heartbeats, rubbing her hands over her face tiredly.

“Akira, I really don't think…” Her breath stuttered; she hid her face from him, as though afraid. “I don't think I can take much more of this.”

“Miki…”

“No, no, listen to me!” Miki huddled over her knees, hands grabbing at her hair. She pushed him away, and Akira hastily backed up. “Tako is… Tako is…”

She took a deep breath, warding away the tears. “Tako’s getting restless. He can't… We can't stay there anymore. It's too dangerous.”

_It's too dangerous._

How many times would that be repeated? It's too dangerous to stay with you, Akira. It's too dangerous to stay with the devilmen. It's too dangerous to stay with the humans.

_Is it that dangerous, to just exist?_

Akira wrapped an arm around her, embracing her. She shuddered, but didn't push him away again. He tried not to let his relief show.

“Are you going to try on your own?” Akira murmured. “Is that what Tako needs?”

Miki nodded, still hiding her face.

They fell into silence, and Akira let himself rest his forehead against her. He closed his eyes, and tried not to cry.

_Ryo, where are you?_

 

* * *

 

 

Shaking. Someone was shaking his arm, and he groaned, trying to push the presence away. The dream ebbed at his conscious; he felt tired, worn away. Had he fallen asleep, beside Miki?

A sigh, some rustling. “Akira, if you don't get up right now, I'm gonna have to get a spray bottle.”

That wasn't Miki.

His eyes popped open, and Ryo smiled warmly down at him. He had rings under his eyes, and his hair was a mess.

“I just got an alert, a few miles from here,” Ryo said, gripping Akira’s shoulder and dragging him up. “We have to go. Another job for Devilman!”

Ryo laughed quietly. But Akira…

He felt lost. He _was_ lost.

Akira shook his head, trying to throw off the strange thoughts pounding through his head. Ryo obviously didn't know ( _didn't know what?_ ), and Akira had no plans to tell him.

They left the house, and got in the car. Ryo drove, but Akira couldn't worry. It was like he was somewhere far away, and he could only watch as they drove silently.

They finally stopped near a playground. Ryo climbed out, already loading his gun. Akira was slower, casting his gaze over the area. His senses prickled; he could feel the presence of a demon nearby. The scent drifting on the evening breeze did nothing to hide it from him. His mind grew busy, the sudden danger provoking him.

Akira stalked forward, and it was like second nature to transform. His bones clicked dully as they morphed and stretched, accompanying the footsteps behind him. They were the only sounds, besides the distant inhale and exhale of the beast he would fight this night. His blood hummed in anticipation; already, his spirit hungered, extinguishing the dread that had manifested since his last battle. Akira refused to haunt himself over the bloodlust; he had been like this since becoming Devilman. He internally shook the thought away, and refocused himself.

“I'll stay back; this one's been lurking around here for awhile now, so it must have amassed some amount of power.” Ryo paused, and began to walk further behind Akira. “I'm much weaker than you are, Akira. Be cautious though, alright? We don't know how strong this demon might be.”

_Ryo, you don't know how strong you really are. I hope you never do._

Akira physically shook his head, moving forward as though Ryo had never spoken, as though he had never heard that thought, twisting around in his head.

The trees around them opened up, the path finally entering the playground. The night sunk heavily into Akira, the swings and slide empty and creaking quietly in the breeze. Something crawled up his spine; the dread lapped once more at the back of his throat. He pushed it away, focusing only on the growing roar in his veins. His blood pounded in his body, a dog slobbering for its next meal.

A rustling; strange pants directed Akira’s red tinged attention. A hulking demon, shuffling around, leaning against a tree. In its massive paw it loosely gripped something small, something bloody.

The wide, gaping eyes of a child. The corpse’s head was separated from its body, the delicate remains splayed limply at the demon’s feet.

His teeth clenched, blood rushing in his ears. He was before the demon, and a thrill ran through him at the shock in its wide, wide eyes. Inhuman eyes, faintly glowing yellow in the darkness. Inside them, a monster grinned back.

Akira’s hand - fingers turned knives, brutally sharp - came down, ripping the child from it. Blood sprayed across his face, and he flinched from the frigid liquid.

Akira froze, hesitating.

_Why is it so cold? Blood is heat, it is warmth; and yet, the blood that pooled around him was cold._

The demon let out a staggered cough, shoving itself back, away from him. It coughed once more, and Akira struck, instinctively, once more. Its blood was black, and it spilled from its torn throat easily. Akira's hands had begun to shake, and he could no longer control his slowed reactions.

It shoved its shoulder deep into his gut, throwing him several feet away, straight into a tree. Akira, winded, fell to the earth, clutching his stomach.

The demon howled, a gurgling, dying sound. A bang, and Akira clenched his eyes closed, his ringing ears joining his discomfort. Blood filled his mouth. When he opened his eyes, the monster's head was partially collapsed; its remaining eye spun nauseously. With a thud, it fell forward. Its blood, unnaturally yellow, poured out from its corpse.

On its back, on its shell, the twisted faces of the dead stared out.

_What? Jinmen? But aren't you dead?_

_Aren't you dead?_

A whistling, wheezing sound. He couldn't tear his eyes away; a voice was echoing, echoing in his blood filled ears.

_「I want to go home! Help me, please, help me!_

_I need to get out of here--_

_shes waiting for me, I need to--_

_Help me! Brother, help me! Im scared--_

_Im so scared, mother please, please, I want to go home--_

_mommy, please!_

_“Laugh, laugh! Do you dare kill these ghosts?”_

_Devilman!」_

**_“AKIRA!”_ **

Arms, around him, he was choking, suffocating, restrained, he tried to see, he tried to see, but--

**_“akira.”_ **

**_“stop.”_ **

**_“wake up, now.”_ **

He breathed.

Arms, around him; they gripped him firmly, carefully, as though he might break. A hand, warm and soft, covered his eyes.

He closed his eyes.

Tears were running down his face. They stung the cuts on his face - _cuts? where did they come from?_ \- and joined the blood that leaked from his mouth. The bleeding, he knew, was already slowing.

Distantly, his ears began to clear.

“--Akira, Akira, what's wrong? Damn, I shouldn't have asked him… Fuck. Fuck!” A shuddering inhale; then, the voice gathered itself. “Akira, I'm sorry. I shouldn't have asked, God, I'm sorry. Are you ok? God, I'm sorry, please be ok, please--”

The voice - _Ryo, it's Ryo_ \- continued on, a steady flow of sound. Sometimes reassurances, sometimes apologies, sometimes expletives. Akira felt it wash over him, drowning out the rush of blood in his body. He was flying away, eyes closed, dizzy. The air nettled, pinpricks against his skin, as the tears dried.

Ryo’s voice died out slowly, his arms beginning to rub Akira's shoulders. The motions brought him back to earth, back to reality; he opened his eyes, after suppressing instinctive shivers. Ryo took his hand away, but kept his arms carefully wrapped around Akira.

“...Akira?” Ryo said hoarsely. “Are you ok?”

Akira inhaled shallowly, grasping his friend's hand in his. He nodded. “What… what happened?”

“I don't know!” The words fell out Ryo in a rush, and Akira flinched. “I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I really don't know what happened. One moment it seemed to be as it always is, and then you just - God, Akira, that was terrifying.”

Akira struggled to sit up, but Ryo kept his grip.

“You just - Akira, you fell over and it was like you were having a fucking seizure, or - or, a goddamn stroke. I don't know. You scared the shit outta me.” Ryo squeezed him, and hurriedly let go. Akira stood up, nearly falling when his legs stiffened. “I knew something was going on, I _knew_ it. Akira, what's going on? Are you ok?”

Akira shook his head again, turning. He folded into himself, and tried to push away the nausea and dizziness away.

“It's nothing, Ryo. Just sleeping badly,” Akira said quietly. “Bad dreams.”

Ryo looked like he was going to cry. “It can't be just that.”

But Akira sighed, and waved dismissively at his friend. Frustration required too much energy; after that… fit, all Akira could dredge up was exhaustion.

“It _is_ just that, Ryo.”

“Well… I,” Ryo paused, collecting his thoughts. His eyes betrayed his concern, even as his expression bled only pensiveness. “I… do you just want to come back to my place? Maybe you'll sleep better, or something.”

Akira shot a surprised glance to him. Even though they were close, ever since Ryo had come back from America - or Europe, wherever the hell he'd gone to - he had seemed… unwilling to share his space with Akira. This was a bit unnerving, and it didn't help that Akira was too worn out to mince words. He barely noticed Ryo’s fidgeting hands.

“Are you _sure?_ ” Akira said.

Ryo nodded.

_I don't want to._

_But…_

「 “Who are you?!”

 

_wheres ryo_

 

“You can't.” 」

“Akira?”

He inhaled shakily, throwing off the echoing, unsettling words in his head. They were just random memories. Probably from those nightmarish dreams.

Ryo grasped a comforting hand onto his shoulder. And Akira nodded.

“Alright.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> so. everything from here on out is gonna go on a completely different path from my previous outline. partly because i realized the previous ideas were boring asf, and partly because i kinda... forget most of em.
> 
> updates are gonna be sloooowww, mostly because i changed how i write and what i prioritize. if ya want more info, its in my profile.
> 
> as for this fic, its just a lot of angst now srry.
> 
> (also plz i hate html so much, also this and chap 4 was supposed to go up yesterday but a) i caught hangover which sucks ass because i wasnt drunk or buzzed, b) i spent literally hours to edit the html of several fics so they wouldnt make me want to claw my eyes out looking at them (it took so long and my brain hurt so much that i gave up for the last few i posted), and c) this fic has specific formatting and the thought of editing the html to not only get rid of the horrible span shit but also accommodate the stylization made me wanna cry ok (tbh theres a fic i posted that was supposed to have similar stylization but i was too pooped))
> 
> *i found out its _not_ the span tag thats been giving me so much shit. ends up, google docs automatically has a start/end paragraph line between paragraphs. im really not sure why, but its much easier deleting the  < p > < / p > than the span tags. hopefully itll still look ok on mobile with the span tags >.<


	4. a bit of a freakout on the kitchen floor

That night was one of the most peaceful Akira had had in what felt like months. Although he still dreamed--

( _something with wings, something with bright bright eyes, something wearing the face of someone lost. and the gaze of a headless corpse, reminding him of his failures._ )

\--it hadn't made him shake, frozen in bed, upon waking. It also helped that Ryo was there every time he woke; there was only one bed in the tiny flat Ryo owned, and it wasn't like either of them had never shared such close spaces before. In fact, it was very comforting, not just because of Ryo’s constant presence, but also because of the nostalgia that pulsed through Akira, making him smile.

He still wondered why Ryo hadn't just moved into his father's old, large estate, down the coast. It was farther away, but it also was much bigger, and would be paid for til the day Ryo died. But Ryo just shrugged his questions away, and Akira was content to let the matter be.

That morning was quiet, but not uncomfortable. Ryo whipped up breakfast; even with his strange palette.

(“Really? What made you think that was a good combination?!” “Oh, stop it! It tasted good, didn't it?” “I just didn't think red beans with cream cheese on a freaking bagel would work…”)

Leaving proved troublesome, however. For one thing, Akira didn't actually want to go back home. For another, Ryo kept trying to stop him.

“C'mon, it's not like Miki is really _that_ worried. She'll just be pissed we didn't text her, or something.”

Akira chuckled, but gently pulled away Ryo’s hand. “It's not that! I just… I just think I shouldn't intrude on you anymore than I already have.”

“No, no!” Ryo vigorously shook his head, eyes wide. “You really think that?”

He smiled, warmth pooling in his chest. He had only meant to be polite, but perhaps he _had_ been worried.

“Akira?”

Akira impulsively pulled his friend into a squeezing embrace, the warmth almost making him shudder. He smelled faintly of the ocean, and the musk of timber. Ryo laughed, and his body shook with the force of it against Akira's.

Finally, they let go of each other, grinning widely. Ryo patted Akira's shoulder, his eyes soft and relaxed.

Akira tried not to feel too bad, leaving his friend behind. He refused to look back.

_what happens if hes gone the next time i look. when i search for him, will he be there?_

He felt like he was abandoning him, leaving him behind for the last time. He told himself it was a remnant from his dream, and nothing more.

 

* * *

 

Miki was out for the next few days; when he got a free moment with her, she said something about exams and studying and friends, but she had a special shine in her eyes. Akira minded his own business; their friendship had long since moved passed that kind of closeness.

He felt like he was sleeping all the time; and when he wasn't, Ryo was calling to chat about something or other. They didn't talk about that night a week ago, and they didn't talk about Akira's… breakdown. And Akira couldn't help but feel enormously grateful to his friend for not pushing it.

( _Are you sure you're alright? Akira, I worry. Sure you do._

_I - Akira._

_Where did you go? Why did you leave? You're not worried._ )

 

The dreams, of course, were getting worse.

And Akira was at a loss of what to do.

.

“Akira! Pay attention!” Miki snapped her fingers, and he jerked to attention. The blue light of the television behind her lit her features strangely; like he was looking at her through a warped looking glass.

She lightly shook his shoulder, jarring him from his thoughts once more. The friend she had brought over - possibly a girlfriend? Akira was pretty sure they were headed that way, anyway - looked curiously over Miki’s shoulder, sharp eyes piercing him.

He withheld a flinch, and stood up. “I'm just… gonna go.”

“Wait -- what?” Miki looked surprised, and threw a strained glance at her friend. “Akira? Are you ok?”

He sucked in a breath, frustration flaring briefly inside his breast, before he stifled it. Why was everybody asking him that? He didn't _know._ Everything felt like too much, lately.

He rubbed his face, hiding himself, enjoying the darkness briefly. The movie muttered along, a white static in the background of his thoughts.

“Hey… Miki, maybe you should just leave him alone,” her friend murmured quietly, unknowing that Akira’s ears could pick up every whisper of sound; every exhale, every stutter of her heartbeat, every pulse of hot blood in her body.

Akira forcefully shook himself, and dragged his feet to the kitchen. He hadn't eaten; that was usually when thoughts like those cropped up. God, was he tired.

But hadn't he just woken up?

“Akira?” Miki called from behind him, hesitant.

“I'm just tired.” Akira’s hands shook as he opened the refrigerator door, and closed his eyes at the blurring assault of colours and smells inside.

Miki didn't answer.

He finally gave up on finding something palatable to eat, his stomach twisting inside him. He wondered when he had last eaten, but his mind was afloat, adrift. He could still smell the heavy musk of old blood. The scent mingled in the dry, stale air; wrapping around him, suffocating him. The world spun lazily in circles, and he moaned at the nausea that rose up in his throat.

The kitchen pulsed. Black at the edges of his vision; the television’s blue glow was bleeding, oozing into the room from the entryway. His ears pounded, like water was filling them.

Akira was drowning.

And then, suddenly, he wasn't.

_「_ “ **Hullo** ? **Is anyone there** ?” _」_

The house was in ruins.

He picked his way carefully through the rubble, ignoring the smears of dried blood that rubbed off on his legs. The debris was practically painted with it; he averted his attention, unwilling to contemplate just how intentional it was.

“Miki…?” His voice croaked out, falling out of his mouth unwillingly. It was a foreign sound in the still air.

Only silence answered him.

( _miki didnt answer_ )

He focused on his lungs, expanding and collapsing in a single moment, and continued forward, paying no mind to his splotchy vision or his unsteady limbs. Everything was quiet, as though empty of expectation. As though resigned.

He sucked a breath in between his teeth. _No! I can't be resigned. I can't be._

_“if you were resigned,_

_maybe this wouldn't_

_have happened.”_

There was a pile of something, in a cleared area. The house’s bones rose up from the ground around it, burned out skeletal remains paying homage to the blood that stained the earth. Akira was shaking, his hands clenched at his sides. He couldn't tear his eyes away, away from the lump on the ground.

It was desecrated; torn apart. It held something in the shambles of its arms.

Something small. Something with teeth. Something unmoving.

He could walk no farther.

( _oh, you can walk much farther than that._ )

His knees screamed in pain as he fell, his eyes stung. His hands shook, but they were steady enough - steady enough to reach forward, to touch the corpses. To brush the bloodied, tangled remnants of hair from her face, to fold her closer to him. To close the little boy’s eyes.

They looked peaceful.

「 **THEY LOOK RAVAGED, BY MONSTERS.** 」

He couldn't bear to look at them anymore. A sob rang, muted, through the air, and he curled over the bodies. Something wet poured down his face.

The sounds grew louder, hiccuping, broken sobs. They broke the air into fragments, and burst through Akira’s fog.

His hair stuck to his face. His mouth gaped, bones clicking in a half movement to reform. He desperately tried to quiet the sounds, and bit his tongue. Blood filled his mouth.

Akira couldn't stop.

The world seemed to freeze, in that moment. He let himself break; fracturing, crumbling to pieces. Just for a moment, he let himself be wretched, be pathetic. Because one of his friends was gone, forever.

And the **other** …

“Akira…?”

He refused to look up. His eyes were sealed closed.

“ _You can't stay like that._ ”

“Akira!”

**The floor was cold against his cheek.** His face was wet.

There were hands, on his shoulder, shaking him. He tried to push them away, but his limbs were heavy weights; he fumbled, sliding across the floor til his back smacked against the cabinets. Akira forced his eyes open, blinking rapidly to push away the waves in his vision.

There was someone, in front of him. They kneeled, their face obscured by darkness. A light clicked on, and he flinched at the sudden brightness.

“...Akira?”

“Is he ok?”

He covered his head, his heart beginning to pound. Hands, on his shoulder. They gripped him tightly.

“I - Miko, I don't know what to do.”

The ground was moving under him, shaking his body. He forced his eyes open again. She looked over him, eyes bright and concerned.

Was he dreaming? Or had that… had _that_ been a dream?

God, he didn't know.

“Akira?” Miki grasped his chin, jerking his gaze to lock with her’s. “Are you hurt? What happened?”

He breathed shallowly, his eyes watering. He couldn't look away.

“Akira?”

Akira closed his eyes, forehead falling against her. The heat of her body warmed him; slowly, her presence pressed him to move. Every limb ached, but he forced himself to sit up, forced himself to wake up.

But he couldn't force the words out of his mouth.

Miki’s friend stood in the entryway, her eyes glimmering and round. Miki had her lips pressed tightly together, a worried expression marring her usually upbeat demeanor. Akira rubbed his eyes, and took another gulping breath.

“Has this happened before?” The other woman asked. “If it has, maybe he should go to the hospital, or something…”

“He doesn't need the hospital!” Miki snapped over her shoulder. Too many bad memories. “It's just - damn it, Akira. Do you feel sick?”

He shook his head, and swirled his tongue in his mouth, trying to speak. But the sounds wouldn't fall from his mouth. He took another deep breath.

“Is it the dreams? I - maybe you should go to the doctor. Ryo could help pay, right?”

Akira’s shoulders tensed at the name, and suddenly his jaw loosened.

“...I just haven't been sleeping well.” His voice was jarring to him; Akira had expected a croak, a groan, an unpleasant hiss - but his voice was smooth and confidant. As though he had never collapsed in the middle of some kind of fit. Again. “I don't need to go to the doctor. Must've just fallen asleep.”

Miki threw a look at her friend, unease written all over her face. The other woman just looked displeased.

“I'm pretty sure falling asleep standing up isn't a good sign of health…”

“I'm fine! Jeeze, I'm fine,” Akira snapped. “No reason to worry. You can go back and watch your show. I'll just go to bed, no problem.”

Miki just sat back, leaning away from him. Akira grabbed hold of the counter, pulling himself upright. Every limb was aflame with needles, as though every part of him had fallen asleep and had been woken violently. Thoughts circled in his head, a blabbering voice weaving in and out of silence. He couldn't get his head on straight; frustration was a pin, bobbing in and out of his flesh.

He felt so… worn. The images from the dream wouldn't go away, and Miki’s presence, once soothing, was a nightmarish press of molten iron against his skull.

“I swear, if you don't just tell me what's going on, I'm going to call Ryo, and then we're going to take you to the fucking hospital.”

Akira looked up, shocked. Miki was angry, no doubt; if she was willing to call their shared friend on the matter, she sincerely didn't trust him.

“Miko, go get my phone, please.” Miki said, standing up. She didn't look away from Akira. “It's on the couch.”

“This is -- this is _stupid,_ Miki.” Akira said. His voice was loud, but still steady. Steadier than he had thought, and he grew uneasy at the sound of it. “I'm fine! I'm just-”

“You're _just_ tired, sure.” Miko interrupted, handing Miki’s phone to her. “Just tired. That's definitely why we heard a crash and found _you_ passed out cold on the floor, and that's definitely why you didn't wake up for a full fucking ten minutes. Not that we were counting, but it sure felt serious.”

Akira froze, mouth agape.

“Akira, we're really worried. Don't get angry at us for that,” Miki didn't touch him, as though aware of his sudden hypersensitivity. _“I'm_ worried. I _will_ call Ryo, and we _will_ drag you to the hospital if this continues.”

He looked away. “I don't need to go to the hospital.”

Miki sighed. “I'm about done with this. I - This isn't just what happened tonight, you've been out of it for weeks now, Akira.”

“I told you, I haven't been sleeping well. There's no reason to go to a goddamn doctor for that.”

“But maybe there is! Either way, I'm going to call Ryo. You guys are closer nowadays than…” She sucked in a breath, and motioned Miko to stand closer. “Miko, could you please keep Akira company? Make sure he eats too, because apparently he's a giant baby incapable of fucking feeding himself, let alone communicating like an adult.”

She left the room. Akira tried not to let his relief show too much at her departure; while the frustration, the helplessness, still bubbled in his chest, the anxiety from the nightmare eased. But even as he relaxed, he had to hold himself back from chasing after her; she was just going to the other room, not disappearing. She wouldn't just do that.

_She had, though._

_She had gone away and_

_had never come back._

She didn't want to see him.

Akira grunted, shaking his head to disperse the strange, wavering thoughts. Miko was saying something, and had the fridge open. His stomach still felt uneasy, but he gently pushed her away and grabbed a sandwich.

“She's wrong. I can feed myself,” Akira paused, unnerved at the calm in his voice. “And this whole… thing, it's completely abnormal. Please don't think we live like this.”

He tried to laugh, but the sound came out flat. Miko just looked unimpressed, albeit faintly amused.

“I don't really care, to be truthful. But this is kind of serious,” Miko said dryly. “She's really worried, y'know. Maybe I shouldn't gossip, but she's told me a lot about you.”

“What?”

“Yeah. She considers you her best friend.”

Akira felt butterflies in his stomach, the sandwich turning even more unappetizing in his mouth. They had known each other since they were very young, but something inside him squirmed at the thought of her saying that. They were more like distant siblings, but it meant… something, for her to value their connection enough to describe it like that.

A frustrated sigh broke the pensive silence between the two strangers. Miki had her phone in hand, but she looked vaguely angry.

“He said you're an adult. If there's something really serious going on, you'll tell us, because apparently it's not fucking serious enough right now,” Miki swung around, glaring. She practically spat out, “You -- this is the second time! How is this _not_ serious enough to -- to fucking do something about it! Goddamnit!”

She kicked the wall, in a pique of anger, and immediately hissed in pain. Miko quietly went to her, rubbing her arm comfortingly.

“Miki…” Akira tried to say, _i cant tell you it hurts me but i cant not yet_ , but all that came out was, “I'm sorry.”

She sighed heavily, brushing back messy strands of hair. She stood quietly by the entryway, figure hunched, as if drained. His own shoulders were drawn up, and guilt flooded him. He wished, he wished he could say something - say _anything,_ to make her feel better. But there was nothing he could say.

Finally she waved a hand at him, gesturing him to… to go away.

“If you want to stay quiet, stay quiet.” Her voice was bitter, and she wouldn't look at him. “Go to sleep, see what I care.”

Miko shot a glance at him, shaking her head slightly. She did care - all of them could see it, all of them knew it. But sometimes it was better to claim otherwise. Akira left the two, huddled together, and tried to push away the guilt, the frustration. The embarrassment.

Sometimes it was better to claim the opposite of what you truly felt; sometimes denial was better than acceptance.

 

* * *

 

His tail thumped against the ground, sending up clouds of dust. He did not try to still it; nervous energy forced it to movement, and he felt too drained to bother pushing the anxiety away. Too tired.

He had dragged himself to an empty clearing, devoid of corpses or blood. The conflict had scorched the earth, removing any semblance of life, other than the very few struggling to survive, struggling to breathe.

( _the very few that were already dead._ )

The crumbled remains of towers, brought down low by violent death throes, surrounded him.

Akira’s scalp prickled; a presence behind him, a familiar one.

He could not bear the thought of looking at it, looking and seeing…

( _What? Seeing blonde hair, a plastic bag in one hand, the other reaching out to offer a cold can of coffee? Maybe they would go to their usual place, nestle close together to abate the winter chill. Maybe the bag of chips would crinkle in his fist, as he nervously listened to the cadence of their voices, meshing together._ )

“Akira…”

His skull shook, once. Unwillingly. The tremors were involuntary, and oh, how he wished they would stop. He wished everything would stop.

Behind him, the being did not move; it knew what he felt, what rose up in his throat as bile but what left his jaws as vitriol, as denial.

( _“akira you have to stop this you know what he is you know what he has always been--”_

_“This denial doesn't suit you, Akira.”_

_“Don't say that.”_ )

“Akira.”

A whisper of movement; it was closer, closer. He could feel its gaze on his back (its brighttoobright eyes), but he couldn't. He couldn't look. If he looked, if he saw --

Miki used to get so mad at him, so angry. They would argue, argue about something that was so important, yet it truly didn't matter. It truly didn't.

Did it?

He wished he hadn't argued. He wished that it wasn’t true. But…

A sigh, but the stranger - _a stranger, a stranger, he's a stranger now, we're strangers now_ \- did not touch him. Didn't lightly brush thin fingers through his hair, chuckle and tap Akira's shoulder with his own.

Perhaps it was better, that he hadn't.

Akira let his breaths pull steadily throughout his body, let his hair stand on end, his tail swiping at the ground. His arms were stiff, his teeth clicking dully. Every part of him was on edge.

“You have to look at me eventually. There's no one left.”

No one left. Such a heart wrenching sentence, stated so simply, like an observation. It _was_ an observation.

There was no one left.

Except him.

_Except not-him, the stranger._

It seemed as though a force took over him, an unearthly feeling of knowing he had wanted to, knowing he hadn't wanted to. Like his head swiveled without thought, and he watched from miles away, watching from a faraway place.

He was a stranger, yet he wasn't. A stranger, yet everything about him burned Akira - burned him with a cold and suffocating feeling, buried inside his chest. Nostalgia, familiarity, _want, longing, melancholy,_ weakness.

Weakness.

He wanted to say he looked away, right after. He wanted to say he hadn't cried.

「 _but the tears aren't coming._ 」

But he didn't, and he had.

“Oh…”

The stranger - _a stranger, a stranger, god please remember that_ \- looked so surprised, so shocked. He knelt down beside Akira, bare knees somehow clean despite the dust and filth.

A hand reached out, delicate fingers splayed, before the stranger yanked them back, almost involuntarily. Akira dried his own tears.

“You're right,” He murmured, the sound low in his throat. “No one's left.”

Suddenly there were arms around him, a stiff embrace that he couldn't help but lean instinctively in to. Ryo - _the stranger who wore his friend's face, that was the truth but he couldn't remember it with his heart aching like it was_ \- still had the same scent; of wood and sea. His skin was so very warm against Akira; he had imagined the smooth, naked limbs to be cold, like those of a rigid corpse. Because that was what he truly was, wasn't he? Perhaps the both of them were corpses, shambling bodies that refused to stop.

_i just want it to stop._

“Akira -- Akira, I didn't mean for this to happen.”

The breaths against his hair were steady, warm. Akira closed his eyes. He wanted to pretend, for just a moment --

_miki’s alive, taro is going to school. ryo is here. we're going to the theatre later, to watch that new movie. he’s saying not to expect much, i’m saying that he’s too pessimistic._

Life is as it always is, and he's not sitting limply in the remains of some skyscraper, isn't in the arms of his friend, who's become a stranger; he's not still trying to clean the imprint of blood from out of his fingernails, he's not so tired that he can barely cry anymore.

“I'm so sorry…”

They slowly came closer together, as if to meld their bodies together. He held fast to pretending; this was Ryo, not some strange, powerful demon that wore his flesh. ( _butmikihadntbelievedthatnoonebelievesthat except you._ ) Both of them were naked, but it didn't matter. Everything seemed to fall apart, and grow dark, grow warm. Akira wanted, oh, he wanted so badly for this to be his friend. He wanted to hold Ryo again, just like he held this stranger.

“The sun's setting, Akira…”

When he opened his eyes, the purple shadows bled afterimages into his vision. Ryo’s skin was a bleached stillframe, and he latched his gaze on it. The light was gold and orange, falling away from him, cutting stark lines of darkness into Ryo’s flesh.

“I'm so sorry.”

**and there was a light, and they watched it together from their clearing.**

**and there was a light, and they watched the stars fall like raindrops in the night.**

**And there was a light.**

 

* * *

 

When he woke, it was with a snap; a snap of awareness, when he only knew the dream as reality, and then he knew it was naught but a dream. A special kind of nightmare, one that he knew would make him ignore Ryo’s texts, but call him in just an hour. Like he couldn't figure out if he was more terrified of seeing his friend or of… losing him.

Akira let his body relax against the bedsheets, his sweat cooling slowly. The early morning light filtered through the curtains, making the room appear bigger, and he felt… as if he could breathe.

Akira was breathing, he was alive, and his dreams were still haunting him.

He sighed heavily, resting his forearm against his eyes. His mind was quiet, a single thought ringing through his head, as if he had told himself it repeatedly:

Tell someone.

What could he tell them? Again and again the question circled his thoughts, even as every part of him ached to tell someone. The only person he knew he could not tell was Ryo.

His best friend.

The person who didn't exist, not really, in his dreams.

But it would be better to tell him; Akira didn't know where the nightmares - the _visions_ \- were coming from, and he refused to play stupid any longer. This was coming from a demon; there was no other option.

( _He couldn't bear the thought that, maybe, maybe, there was something wrong with him._ )

Miki didn't know about the demons, about Devilman - _she didnt know about the blood staining your hands._ \- but Ryo did. Logically, he should tell him. Akira should tell Ryo.

But…

Akira should tell Ryo about his dreams, in which in all of them Ryo is either possessed by some enigmatic creature, or is, in actuality, fucking _Satan._

What the fuck would Ryo say? How would Akira say it in the first place? That kind of thing was just -- it was ridiculous. He couldn't do it.

But Miki…

Well. He _had_ been planning to tell her about his… decidedly questionable humanity at some point.

Akira rolled over in bed, and decided to not give it anymore thought. Otherwise he'd probably cry from the confusion and stress of it. Again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> so ill continue writing for this, but expect weirdness, because my writing style has changed slightly and its weird writing this. the story is kind of fluid, kind of flexible, so some things arent gonna be followed up on. if yall have questions, comment, i really really appreciate it.
> 
> anyways, ill be replying to all comments as soon as ive posted the newest story today. as for scheduling, im having writers block with concrete beggars, so the next block of updates isnt gonna be for a while (itll include 3 dm updates/posts, and 2 - 3 wip posts, so have that to look forward to?)
> 
> i wrote these chaps back in november lol


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